13 Disasters 1 perfect Moment
by DSISandraPullman39
Summary: I hate Friday 13th. I just thought I'd put that out there. I don't imagine it will surprise any of you but before we go any further I want to make it clear that on top of my usual concerns and worries on an average day or even an average Friday putting the number 13 in front of the day is enough to freak me out totally.
1. Chapter 1

**13 disasters + 1 perfect moment = All's right with the world 1/2**

**Disclaimer:-** Don't own them just borrowing!

**Episode:- **None

**Pairing:- **Nicola/Ollie

**Rating:- **M

**Achieve:- ** **http(:/) . /group/rebeccafrontlewisffarchive/**

**Summary:-**

**Author's Note:- **Written for Gee's "Friday 13th" Challenge to write a fic involving Friday 13th and one character's reactions/feelings about it. Rated for the usual stuff enjoy and reviews would be lovely as always they make my day!

I hate Friday 13th. I just thought I'd put that out there. I don't imagine it will surprise any of you but before we go any further I want to make it clear that on top of my usual concerns and worries on an average day or even an average Friday putting the number 13 in front of the day is enough to freak me out totally.

Nothing good ever happens on Friday 13th and so far I've been out of bed less than an hour and nothing has happened to persuade me today is going to be any different. My alarm went off at 6am and I reached for it to turn it off knocking a full glass of water over myself, my pillow and the duvet as I did. That then woke James who has spent the time since yelling in an angry whisper every time I come near so he can insult my competence and intelligence at length without waking the children. Added to that the fact that the boiler has spontaneously decided to only heat the water to one degree about freezing meaning I have had to have what was essentially a cold shower and that I am now standing at the living room window waiting for Elvis who is already 15 minutes late and it all points to the clear fact that I should have just found a quiet cupboard to crawl into for the day.

"Sorry Minister I'm not sure what happened the engine just cut out about two miles away and I had to wait for the driver's pool to send me a tow truck and a new vehicle." See! It's 07:10 am and that the third disastrous thing already! God I wonder if anyone would actually notice if I stayed home today rocking back and forward under my soaking wet duvet?

"It's fine just get me in ASAP because if I'm late for my morning bollocking from Malcolm he'll spend even longer on it and I'm supposed to be at Radio 5 for their morning political autopsy at 9." Oh yeah I forgot to mention that didn't I? Two hours of potential cock-ups on live radio like that's going to go well today!

"Nicola wait don't go up yet!" What the hell? We actually made it here in record time meaning I'm not yet late for Malcolm and Glen wants me to stop? I swear he forgets that it takes me five minutes to climb the bloody stairs!

"Walk and talk Glen, Malcolm will be here any minute and I like to get a lemon zinger and half a bottle of rescue remedy into me before he starts."

"He's not coming." What? Oh please, please, please tell me I heard that right! Please let one thing have gone right for me today! Let him be ill, nothing life threatening just a case of laryngitis or something that means he'll have lost his voice would do!

"Why? Don't get me wrong I'm not complaining but why?"

"He wants you to go to him." Fuck! So much for hope. He never wants me to go to him unless the shit has really hit the fan now I'm frantically running through the last 24 hours in my head trying to work out what I've done and….oh shit no! He's now holding up the front page of today's Daily Mail and the headline has made my blood run cold.

"What the fuck Glen? When did that happen and why wasn't I informed?" The draft copy of our new citizenship test has been leaked and now three of the stupidest questions on it are staring out of the front page of the Mail at me in bold letters. Disaster number four, oh god if I make it out of this fucking day alive it'll be a damn miracle!

"We don't know, Ollie is on his way down he'll contact Wilson at the mail while you drive over. Elvis is still outside."

"Ollie you better have a fucking good explanation for this and the name of the twat that leaked it by the time we get to the office because I'm not taking the fall for someone who can't keep their fucking mouth shut! I mean it, find the bastard so we have something to tell Malcolm then bring me his balls on a fucking plate!" Yes I know it might sound like I'm over reacting but trust me it's a cock up of the highest fucking magnitude. We know the questions are fucking shit which is why we're still drafting it. Now some tosser has decided to make my fucking day even worse and Ollie and I are almost back in the car on our way to….argh! Bollocks!

"Nicola? Nicola are you ok?" 5! 5 disasters I'm always saying the gap between the paving stones outside the office is too big and now I've proved it by getting my fucking heel stuck in one of those gaps breaking it off and I'm pretty sure breaking my ankle at the same time! I'm on the ground and Ollie is frantically throwing things into the back seat of the car so he can help me up. Honestly I feel like I could burst into tears at any second.

"Get Glen tell him I need one of the spare pairs of black heeled shoes from the cupboard in my office and I need them five minutes ago!" I've batted away his attempts to help and am trying to make my way onto the back seat of the car. This is bad my ankle is already swelling. Shit, shit, shit! I so don't need this!

"Nicola I think we should take you to get that checked out it could be broken or anything!" No shit Sherlock! He knows as well as I do that we cannot just detour to the local A&E department!

"Just get in the car it's almost 8 and we've got to be at the 5Live studios for 9 you're cutting into Malcolm's tearing a fucking strip off me time."

"What the fuck happened to you?" I wish I could say there was actual concern in that question but right now Malcolm Tucker is looking at me like he would think nothing of having me killed and buried in a shallow grave."

"I broke my heel, look Ollie is trying to track down the source of the leak so can we save the fucking screaming till later Bacon is going to do it for you in half an hour on live radio anyway."

"Richard Bacon is a pansy assed fuckin tosser even you can deal with him and if you don't I'll make sure you fuckin regret it. What the fuck is with your department that you can't keep a single thing under wraps for more than 30 seconds at a time? I mean fuck sake Nicola go do your fucking interview, put Bacon back in his box then get your ass back here with an explanation because if you don't know who it is I want someone's head on a plate and it might as well be yours!" He hasn't even given me a chance to sit down and I'm being fucking dismissed. I told you this day was a fucking nightmare didn't I? Friday the fucking 13th is two hours old and already I've pissed off my husband, had a cold shower and a broken down car, realised my department had more leaks than fucking Wales and almost, actually probably, broken my ankle what the hell is going to happen next.


	2. Chapter 2

**** For authors notes, disclaimer etc. see chapter 1**

***** Covers the A&E challenge where one character takes another to A&E**

**13 Disasters + 1 perfect moment = All's right with the world 2/3**

"Nicola I'm really starting to worry about that ankle I wish you'd let me call Bacon and tell him we can't make it then take you to A&E to get that looked at it must be agony." God his fussing is starting to do my fucking head in. Yeah it's painful, yeah he's probably right I probably should get it looked at but he knows we can't do it now. If we cancel our 5 Live appearance after the Mail headlines they will assume it's because we have no defence for it and will just indulge in a 2 hour long assassination of our department and me. I know he likes to fuss, I know he feels like he needs to be my knight in shining armour but seriously today he needs to reign that the hell in because we have enough issues.

"Ollie you know we can't let's just get back to the car before Malcolm changes he's mind and decides to yell at us anyway even though his time is limited. We have 40 minutes to get to the five live studios and I could really do with coffee and paracetamol or something so let's go, Elvis can stop at the Costa around the corner from the studios and I think there's a chemist in that little parade of shops too….Don't look at me like that Ollie you know I'm right." Elvis knows better than to debate which of us to listen to in one of these disagreements, he's my driver if I say drive to the studio via costa and boots then that's exactly what he's going to do no matter what Ollie has to say about it so now he's sulking beside me in the back seat as we set off. Pissing off the one person who loves you unconditionally and is completely on your side? Disaster number 6 I'd say. Fucking great just when I thought it could get no worse.

"What?" We're sitting outside the BBC with a steaming cup of coffee in each of our hands while Elvis leans on the bonnet of the car puffing slowly on a cigarette and playing with his phone and just as I was about to say it was time to go in Ollie's phone has rang. I hate the sound of a ringing phone. Yes I'm aware that's as odd as wanting to hide in a cupboard in Friday 13th but if you led my life you'd know what I mean. People think the world of politics is glamorous, it's all fiddling your expenses and flash dinners at the House of Commons restaurant with the PM and the home secretary. They look at us on TV and think "my taxes pay for them to sit around on their fucking asses getting fat on good food and wine while I struggle to feed my family and ignore the needs of the little people while we struggle day to day." Well you know what? Sometimes they're right. Some MP, some minsters have exactly that lifestyle but I would bet my government pension that at least 80% of average working cabinet ministers feel the same pending sense of doom that I do every time they hear a ringing phone. I can be standing in Waitrose waiting for the checkout staff to ring up yet another ready meal that I'm going to eat at my desk and hear the customer service phone ring and immediately feel my blood run cold even though I know this time the call isn't for me or about me. A ringing phone to me never seems to bring good news and from what I can hear of the conversation Ollie is having right now this is going to be no different.

"Ollie please, please tell me there isn't something else about to fuck us over today I don't think I can stand much more." He's hung up his call and is refusing to meet my eyes. Shit! Hold on tight folks I have a feeling disaster number 7 is only moments away. "Just tell me baby whatever you say can't make me feel much worse right now, I opened my eyes this morning and the shit hit the fucking fan and has been spraying all over me since so this will only add to my stress for the day not create it."

"We're not going on, we're going back to the office, no actually we're going to A&E I'll fill you in on the way. Elvis we're moving stop texting your fucking boyfriend and let's go!" Now I really am confused, not 20 minutes ago Malcolm was telling me to put Richard Bacon back in his box now we're not even going on and that's before we even get to the fact Elvis is in the car and following his instructions to drive us to the back entrance of the Royal Free hospital.

"Ollie you better start talking and make it fucking good because I'm seconds away from having Elvis turn this car around and take us back to the office where I can kick the shit out of you with my good foot!"

"Bacon has pulled the plug on the show; they're running with the Mayoral candidates tearing fucking strips off each other instead." This is bad; you know all those other disasters? The 6 before now? Well forget about lucky fucking 7 this is going to be seriously un-fucking-lucky because they only wheel out Ken and his cronies when they are building up to something big something that is going to explode the disaster level of my day into a million pieces and make it off the scale shitty. "Don't Nicola I know; Glen doesn't know why he's done it like us he was sure Bacon would be straining at the fucking leach to get you in there today after the Mail headline, the only reason he can think of for putting it off is there's bigger things to come in rags with more credibility than the Marxist fucking mail."

"Shit! Has he heard any whispers about who might be coming after us over the citizen test? I really thought it was just The Mail being…well, being the fucking Mail." Here it comes I can see it in his eyes and we've pulled up at what is jokingly referred to as the VIP entrance of the Royal Free. It's the entrance that those who would rather not be snapped by the paparazzi use, though the staff on the other side are more used to dealing with celebs ready to pop out their latest child or high on drugs than a hobbling low ranking cabinet minister with a swollen ankle. "I'm not going in there until you tell me what I'll be facing when I come out."

"Word on the grapevine is that The Independent has background on the professor admin brought in to draw up the test and he's got a CV as long as your fucking arm full of anti-government lectures and academic papers." There it is disaster number 7. "They are going to run with the headline tomorrow that we don't vet out experts and basically we are a walking talking example of government incompetence. If his sources are right then The Times has it too and the Observer."

"Holy Shit Ollie what the hell happened how did we end up with the modern day Karl fucking Marx as our expert? I can't believe this is happening. Malcolm is going to crucify us for this and you really want me to go in there and wait around while they do x-rays and tell me I've twisted my fucking ankle and to grow some balls and get on with it while this is hanging over our heads?" The Times and The Observer? Forget 7 that brings us up to disaster number 9 already and it's not even 9am. Friday the 13th? Fuck right off I've had enough of you already and there's till 15 hours of you left to live through.


End file.
